Desire
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Ginny's not jealous...per se.


A/N: by popular demand on Tumblr, we have a jealous!Ginny fic. Also ohmygod this is the most sultry I've ever gotten with a hinny fic save me hehe. Nothing above a T though I'd say, but plenty happens "off screen." I actually like how this turned out though, flirty & playful hinny, so I hope you all like it too!

Thank you all for the comments on my fics! I read them all and they make me so happy! It's my great pain that I can't comment super easy back, but maybe I'll try doing the little PM response thing sometimes? Idk. Just know I appreciate them all so much :)

Also, if you head over to my tumblr, I'm doing a follower celebration thing with a poll to pick a prompt for me to write, so if you get a desire to do so, my url is the same as on here :)

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After about a year of being a Holyhead Harpy, Ginny had already managed to perfect going from practice mode to what she's termed 'press ready' in less than half an hour, usually including travel time. So the sprint from Arthur Weasley's relatively large, floo ready office and through the darkened halls of the ministry isn't anything new. Even in heels.

She knows by now, about four years in, to pause just outside the ballroom and catch her breath instead of running in like the harpy her team is so aptly named for. Which gives her the opportunity to smooth her slightly damp updo and scope out the partygoers before she makes an entrance – partygoers that include her rather svelte looking husband as he's being _admired_ by some overly touchy witches and wizards.

Biting back a growl – because she's mature and civilized – Ginny takes a deep breath and begins making her way across the dance floor, dodging revelers and swiping a delicate glass of champagne with practiced ease. She's nearly reached her destination when a woman toddles over in too-tight dress robes, seeming entirely too fascinated by Harry's standard Auror dress robes, even if they do manage to hug his chorded muscles _just right_ …

Ginny blows out a deep breath, setting aside _those_ thoughts for later, and manages a few rather realistic smiles at passers by, if she does say so herself. Her eyes settle on Harry once again and she finds the same benefactresses lingering in conversation with him as he gulps down his drink – likely firewhisky on the rocks – and subtly puts more distance between one particularly emphatic admirer and his chest. Which is apparently not enough of a deterrent because the woman's grabby hands simply settle on his forearm – hardly a loss in Ginny's expert opinion because touching Harry's anything is pretty phenomenal – and clench briefly before he tugs his arm away more definitively.

Already seeing the impatient clench in his jaw, Ginny slips up close and puts her arm in Harry's. He jolts at first, tense with a rebuff on his lips, until he turns and sees it's her, and the light that sparks in his eyes makes her mad dash across two continents to get here more than worth it. The grabby woman backs off to a more respectable distance, eyeing Ginny haughtily – a glare she returns with a tinge of victory in her eyes – while Harry shifts so his arm drapes around Ginny's waist casually, his thumb rubbing against her bare lower back in distracting circuits.

Somehow, they manage stilted small talk with minimal glaring until the woman lets her interest wander to more _eligible_ wizards in the ballroom and gives her regrets, leaving the Potters to themselves. Ginny can't help the slight triumph she feels watching her opponent leave, and it doesn't falter until Harry's ribs start shaking next to her with silent laughter.

Scowling, Ginny turns in the circle of his embrace and folds her arms over her chest. "And just what are _you_ laughing at, Mr. Auror?"

Harry's fingers tickle over her bare back, barely slipping under the seams of her dress, eyes dancing playfully. "Nothing at all dear," he pauses, "Do you need to piss on me now?"

The band switches to a more bouncy number and Harry subtly guides her further from the increasingly boisterous dancers. As they dodge a particularly emphatic man wielding a snifter of something or other rather dangerously, Ginny leans close and kisses Harry, relatively short, but warm and inviting. And not at all subtle. "No need for pissing. I think I about covered it."

Before she can pull to far away, Harry nuzzles his nose against hers and murmurs, "I dunno. I think maybe we need another go, someone might've missed it."

Ginny smirks and leans up to his ear, tugging at it with her teeth briefly enough that no one will notice, "What'll you have me do then?"

She shifts around to stand at his side, companionable and _completely_ appropriate, and gets a perfect view of his reddened cheeks. Their conversation pauses as a few coworkers and Ministry officials stop for a few minutes of small talk, and Ginny thinks the subject is dropped, until Williams from Broom Regulatory Control gives his goodbyes and makes a beeline for the newly refreshed dessert table. Once he's out of listening distance, Harry presses a kiss to her temple, lingering only slightly too long for polite company and whispers, "I suggest you throw me down right here and have your way with me."

A bolt goes down her spine, goosebumps rising on her arms as his breath brushes over her hairline. Still, she somehow manages to answer in a steady, maybe even sultry voice, "That _would_ be telling."

Harry hums, as if he's considering the idea, his hand slipping further over her waist. "But I've never been a fan of sharing you, if I'm honest."

Ginny makes some noise between a 'yes' and an inaudible squeak as Harry brings his other hand to her bare arm, gentle and teasing.

She can feel him smirk against her temple as his voice whirls around her, warm and low, "And obviously the feeling is mutual."

Despite the spell he's weaving around her, Ginny can't hold back a snort at the comment. "That woman was moments away from figuring out a semi-legitimate reason to rub your pectorals."

"She was also about a billion."

Ginny shrugs. "Who knows, you might decide you like foxy older ladies."

In an uncharacteristically gallant movement, Harry has her swept onto the dance floor as the musicians begin a slow song, a tad sensual for a Ministry gathering. As her hands clasp behind his neck, Harry pulls her close, swaying to the easy rhythm. "I'm sure I'll like a certain one."

Her fingers find the hair that curls at his neck, twirling them around absentmindedly, and she can see his pulse thrum at his throat. "You'd better."

Somehow, through their combined movements, Ginny ends up with her head pillowed against his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart comforting beneath her ear while he shifts one of her hands into his, her wedding band glinting against his dark robes. They continue their short, easy rotation in the less crowded section of the dance floor for a few songs until things pick back up as the music becomes jauntier and the dancers more inebriated.

Still, at some point, Ginny had apparently drifted into a sort of twilight sleep that's not brought to its abrupt end until a rather barky singer who seems intent on livening up the party by giving explicit dance instructions takes the stage.

Blinking rapidly, slightly confused, Ginny glances up at Harry and finds him looking amused with a tinge of exasperation. "When can we leave?"

Ginny quirks a brow. " _I'm_ not the one who had to come and flirt with old ladies for work."

Harry looks thoughtful. "True, yours is next month at the annual Harpies fundraising gala."

She pinches his side but begins leading him through the slightly thinned crowd, slow enough that they aren't drawing attention but quick enough that Harry's running commentary on exactly _what_ they will be doing when they get behind closed doors won't drive her mad before they reach their flat.

About halfway to the apparition point left open, Ginny slips her pinching heels from her feet so she can keep up with Harry's increasingly long strides, eventually getting fast enough that she nearly overtakes him. Which is apparently unacceptable because Harry's arms twine around her middle and heft her taught body over his shoulder, playful and gentle at the same time in the Atrium, which is luckily empty of anyone to be disturbed by Ginny's surprised laughter as it echoes through the cavernous room.

Before Harry twists them away, he lets her slide down his front, slow and teasing until her bare feet touch against the chill tiled floor. Their chests are still heaving with laughter and exertion when he whispers against her lips, "May I, Mrs. Potter?"

Ginny kisses him, short and sweet. "But of course, Mr. Potter."

The next hour passes in a flurry of hands and lips, pressing and grasping until they end up collapsed against their mussed bed sheets, bodies cooling in the darkened room. Lazily, Ginny reaches across Harry's bare chest and grasps the first wand she finds on the nightstand – his – and flicks it so one of the small lamps at their bedside ignites, sending a warm glow across the room. She kisses his shoulder gently, her fingers catching on a small rounded scar there. "This one new?"

Harry sighs, voice gravely and low as he cranes his neck to see the indicated mark. "Oh um. Yeah. Stupid accident with one of the new trainees."

Ginny lets her forearms bracket his ribs so she's hovering over his chest and tilts her head, inviting him to elaborate. He toys with her ruined updo, pulling a stray pin free and tossing it to the floor with the others he'd managed to tug free in their earlier haste. "Yates was a little over eager, shot an impressive _bombardimenta_ in a sparring session specifically reserved for perfecting shield charms," Ginny rolls her eyes and Harry grins, relaxed, "Ended up shattering one of the training dummies and one of the shards got me there."

His hands run up and down her bare form, caressing gently. "What about you?"

Grinning, Ginny flops onto her back and points toward her hipbone, where a silvery slash stands stark against her freckled middle. "Running drills up and down the bleachers," Harry winces and Ginny shrugs, "Cut a turn too close and – "

When her sentence drops off, Harry slips down to the place indicated, lips pressing against the scar, soft and lingering. "It cut all the way through your jersey?"

Intentionally letting her expression turn molten, because she _knows_ her husband, Ginny scratches her close cropped nails against his scalp as he props his chin just below her belly button. "Too hot. Wasn't wearing one."

His tongue darts to lick his lips, and she knows she's about to get exactly what she hoped when he murmurs, "Is that right?"

Ginny nods, hair bunching against the rumpled pillows, and Harry nuzzles against her smooth skin. She tugs on his hair in that way she knows he loves and smiles slow and enticing. "Kiss it better?"


End file.
